Waiting
by Darmen
Summary: Clint is waiting for Phil to wake up after being stabbed by Loki and brought back to life in by doctors and comes to a sudden realzation. One or two swear words.


Clint turned the handle on the door slowly expecting to meet resistance. When it opened with a soft click that echoed through the empty corridors of the medical wing he slipped through, closing the door just as quietly as he had opened it. Like the hallways he had traveled through to reach the room, the lights were dim and cast heavy shadows across the floors and walls. The figure in the bed breathed softly, assisted by the oxygen mask strapped to his face. The gentle beeps and hums of various medical equipment added to the calmness of the atmosphere.

He took a seat in the lone chair and for a few seconds, or minutes he really wasn't sure, and just let go. He let go of the anger he had felt since Loki had taken control of his mind. He let go of the tension that had built as he had fought alongside his teammates to stop the invasion and his com had lacked the usual calm voice. He let go of the fear that had rooted itself deep in his stomach when he had first been told that Phil was dead.

Natasha had taken him aside while the other Avengers, namely Thor, had enjoyed their Sharma. She knew he would rather hear it from her than some nameless agent who wouldn't understand.

Before he was Clint Barton, S.H.E.I.L.D agent he had been the Amazing Hawkeye. The journey between the two had been a rocky one. At times it had felt as if it would never happen. But it had and Phil had been there every step of the way, from his unorthodox recruitment to his final exams as a junior agent.

"Hey sir." He broke the silence tentatively. "I'm glad you're ok. Well not really ok 'cause you've got a sort of hole in your chest but your still here. You're breathing and your hearts beating so that's good." He swallowed thickly and blinked, the calm, peaceful atmosphere of the med room lulling him into a stupor.

"Fury said you were dead. And you were too. Twice they said your heart stopped. I'd like to be mad as you sir, even though it's not entirely your fault. I'm sure you thought you were doing the right thing. Although as soon as you're awake I'll be telling you how stupid you were. One guy with one admittedly badass gun against the god of mischief was only ever going to end one way. What the hell were you thinking Phil."

He kept his voice low and tone level, even though he felt like shouting and swearing and throwing an honest to god fit. But he wasn't supposed to be here and the first orderly or nurse to find him would surley escort him back to his own room where he was awaiting a full physical and psye exam.

Clint moved his chair closer to the bed and stared intently at his handler's chest. The bulky outline of the many bandages and the winding curve of the oxygen tube were visible beneath the blankets.

* * *

Suddenly his check was resting against something soft and he realized he had fallen asleep slumped onto the bed, head resting on Phil's arm, tucked comfortably against his side.

He's was crying now. Big tears falling down his face to drop on to the sheets. It was suddenly in this reversal of roles, Clint standing vigil by Phil's hospital bed, that he had realized what he had come so close to losing.

"I'm sorry sir. So sorry. You were there the whole time. Every time I tripped you kept me from falling." He sniffed softly. "And I didn't do a very good job at paying you back did I? This is all my fault. I brought Him on board. I killed agents for Him. I might as well have been the one to stab you." He was babbling by this point, voicing thoughts he had hardly let himself think until this point. "I can't lose you now. You're too important. You and Natasha, you're all I have left. You're my family. Don't leave me alone. Please don't leave me."

Completely spent he closed his eyes. Before he completely succumbed to exhaustion he shifted his body laying an arm gently across Phil's waist and taking hold of his hand.

* * *

The door to the med room opened quietly and a lithe form slipped in. Even exhausted both physically and emotional Clint was instantly awake. Recognizing the pattern of the footsteps he relaxed and called out a muffled greeting.

"Hey Nat." He didn't bother asking what she was doing.

"You know, the doctors ordered bed rest for you. I think they meant your own bed." Her tone softened, "he's not going anywhere. He's ok now."

Clint blushed as he realized that he was draped across Phil's bed, arm curled protectively around his waist.

"I know." He replied. "I just have to be sure."

Natasha stood waiting patiently and after a moment Clint slowly climbed to his feet wincing as his joints cracked from sleeping in such an awkward position. He pretended not to notice as Natasha walked over to Phil's bedside and kissed his check gently. They left without a word and walked side by side to Clint's room in the med wing.

They both slipped into bed and lay back to back. Their breathing slowed and become more regular until sleep was almost with in arms reach. The hours past and Clint remained awake, thinking. He had lost a lot in the last few days. It would be a long time before he could walk down a hallway without his co workers giving him wary glances waiting for Clint to start killing again. No longer could he climb through the air vents without reminded agents of another not so benign time when he did so. Clint dropping out of vents was no longer a joke but a cruel reminder of the invasion and loss of lives.

But he hadn't lost everything. He had Natasha. And somehow he still had Phil. He yawned loudly causing Natasha to turn in her sleep. After a pause he opened his mouth to whisper into the darkness, "thank you."


End file.
